Corona be like work that yields nothing.
waking up tired of sleep
city breathes, another sigh, no relief.
video calls from teachers
talks all day, learn nothing.
Corona be like a bulletproof vest that leaks
masked breath clogging up the streets.
peer closer to see a lotta lost souls
discombobulated from hope.
u know how the feeling goes.
Corona be like ecstasy served as communion in mass,
or maybe distributed at house parties
with bacardi as juice at frat camp.
oh well, who knows?
it's not like we had summer plans.
another one of life's jokes
another *** hole.
Corona be like loot with no money, a foreclosed bank.
a rich mans grave has no worth
yet earners conspire to make more.
like crime from poverty
there are many things amazon-man can pay for.
Corona be like lifeless action figure
dead and buried, secluded with no
like yesterday's dinner stored away
to fight tomorrow's grief.
to sit down still
chanting the psalms,
to stand up still
counting the stars,
to lie to rest at cool evenings
after the quick day is done,
even in these,
there is a hurry
hustling and bustling,
to get to where,
There is too much ice in this lemon aid
too much responsibility we'd ought not to take
if you wonder who "we" are
its best not we say.
In my birth-land they crying desperate for change
so they pack the street to advocate
only to be hit with straights.
there is too much at stake
the pastor say the world is on its last days
but to live and get older, isn't that our mandate?
The truth is as uncomfortable as wearing mask with eye-aid
those who wish to see have to endure the fog
there is much worry about the 1% prone to be affected
while the 99% are on parole and neglected.
Note, if you speak out of sync
you also will be hit with a straight
its not only my birth-land that needs reforming
best watch out where you stay.
echo chamber thicken up the walls
we all live in a safe
opting to hear what we want them to say
maybe this is the beginning a new dark age.
things I have been observing in this time and age
so I pick up the pen and this is what I say
the first time I saw him I noticed an oddness about him
like that of a villian marked for death
no matter how try he to redeem himself
his next act broaden his mark, deepening this spell
I know death comes for everyone
but for him, death seems to already be there
those who work with him knows this
and stay very clear
he also, is aware of his spell
and the reject from the others
so he cons them like a villain marked for death
but can he con death?
can he con the mark set on his face
when he stares at the mirror, to see an image of himself
sometimes he worries
other times he doesn't seem to care
and it's during those times
when he seems not to care that
we laugh and wonder
"how does he live with himself?"
I have been tasked with the responsibility to lace the delicate fabric of my country
and at times, I toy with it.
coaxing its future with ballots purchase from a one-time-meal ticket.
striking deals with its days and
crowning the history I have chosen to stay.
I am no stranger to the intended walls placed all around me
by the ghost of the passed.
nor am I a sojourner
for my ancestor were born and fell into chains in this land.
The same land kept unpaved and deprived
thick with mud and thicker with thieves.
From a worthy beginning of proudness and freedom
our demise proceeds.
Why should I ignore my instinct to survive?
when the eyes that accuse me, envies me
wanting me to think like them
but would be very much like me
if tasked on this path.
Our future I assume, is mine
and steadily inflates with cries of the market mongers
and that of the child left to find work, or else
left to die.
A scrutiny I comfortably become unaware of.
I know very well of my crimes
and very well of their accusation, that is a lie
and very well of the difficulties that separates
the truth from the lies, when it all brews in the cauldron
that is time.
Nevertheless, far be it from to me let them open my memories and
perceive my face, to let them
learn my alphabet and understand my takes.
Far be it, that the blade of virtue
make an incision on this hide that is my skin
because those who stand naked are seen
and never wins, for that is not how
the game that decides all our fate is meant to be.
dance with their words
and sing with their eyes
then you give them your vows
although you know they have lied
no man can promise anything
they came as teens
from West Africa,
feet dancing from rhythms
they came to live,
to learn, to make
the most of life;
eager to leave the
place that birth
they went to schools,
later university, sat on desk
once sat by whites;
learning to pronouns
words with flir
nostrils to sound alike.
they absorb the culture,
sang the creed,
then, got some rights.
to never decreed, nor
intercede from whence
to my brothers and sisters far and wide with love